Initiation
by Aelora
Summary: Ummm, cracktastic?  Normally I write long, plotty fic with angst.  Here you get tackle hugs, streaking and penis-shaped cookies.  IDEK. I blame Dalton Academy, quite honestly…


Kurt is trying to get used to the differences between Dalton Academy and McKinley, he really is, but sometimes things are so outlandishly, ridiculously… well, _weird_ that he isn't entirely certain that someone isn't playing an enormous joke on him. He remembers his first exposure to it all – standing in the doorway of the senior commons as all around him boys of his age were dancing spasmodically to Katy Perry's "Teenage Dream" as if it weren't Katy Perry at all but something more along the lines of MCR. And for a brief moment there, Kurt had been waiting for the cameras and Ashton Kutcher to appear.

He's still waiting for that inevitable moment.

_XXXXXXXXX_

For example, the boys at Dalton Academy like to tackle one another. Random attacks in the hallway. Kurt's heart about bursts from his chest the first time he witnessed it happening to Blaine. They're walking down the hallway between periods when there's this staccato stomping of feet and a body just throws itself on top of Blaine. Blaine's, books go everywhere and Kurt maybe screeches a little bit.

Blaine barely keeps his balance as David clings to his back, slapping him good-naturedly and making some comment along the lines of "well, you might have heard me coming if your head wasn't so in the clouds lately", and Kurt doesn't know what to think of that. He's too busy trying to slow his heart rate.

They resume their pace down the hall. "This happens often?"

"I didn't warn you?"

Kurt gives him his most disdainful expression. "No. You did not."

Blaine smiles and Kurt maybe, kind of, forgives him for that oversight.

_XXXXXXXX_

And then there's the streaking.

He's sitting with Blaine in the library (_library – the place was more like the Library of Congress, in point of fact_), pretending to study when really he's just watching his classmate mostly; surreptitiously, of course, because they're just friends and he didn't really think of Blaine in that way.

Well, not all of the time, at least.

All of a sudden, a door pulls open and President Clinton is streaking past the bookshelves, naked as the day he was born except for shoes and Dalton Academy-approved socks with tiny little decals on them. Kurt stared at the masked naked body as it disappeared through a door on the opposite side of the room, two librarians in pursuit before turning to Blaine—who hadn't even looked up from his book. Now that he noticed, eighty percent of the boys around him hadn't paused in their studies; the remaining twenty percent applauded, and two had their cell phones out, obviously uploading hastily taken pictures to Facebook.

Kurt leaned his arm on the book he had yet to bother reading. "I take it this kind of thing is pretty standard?"

The only reaction was a slight raise of Blaine's eyebrows. "Wait until it gets colder."

_XXXXXXXX_

As it turns out, Blaine was not exaggerating; the colder the day or night, the more likely the incident of a streaker or two. Kurt keeps a running tally between the hallways and his view of the courtyard from the window of his room. Every time it happens, he sends a text to Mercedes:

**To Best BFF** –_14__th__ naked boy past window. Im dreaming right?_

**From Best BFF** – _This is Santana. Imma on my way._

Kurt rolls his eyes and turns away from the window to where Blaine is strumming his fingers lightly over the strings of his guitar. "Sometimes I feel like I'm in an alternate reality where I'm living one of those movies about all-boys schools—like 'Toy Soldiers' or 'Taps', only without the horrific bloody endings."

Blaine smiles in that way that always makes Kurt's heart skip a beat or two. "I know what you mean. I had that same feeling of surrealism when I got here. You get over it eventually." He strums another chord, hums a few bars and acts as if they're discussing the weather and not the very odd behavior of their classmates.

"I expected to see this in college by some random drunken frat-boys, but not at Dalton." Kurt shakes his head.

"Kurt." Blaine sets his guitar down, leaning it against the bed and moving across the room to stand in front of him. "The only difference between drunken frat-boys in college and any boy in high school is the fraternity."

Kurt makes a face, reaching for some reason beyond his understanding to fix Blaine's tie that is all loose and askew against his shirt. He sniffs with what he hopes is his trademark haughtiness. "There's a lot more of a difference between myself and college frat-boys, thank you very much."

Blaine's smiling at him in a way that makes his toes curl, and Kurt is very, very happy that they are just friends because if he honestly had a crush on this boy, Blaine would have him wrapped completely around his little finger.

It turns out though that Blaine is right. After a few more days, Kurt learns to ignore the incessant streaking of his classmates. Occasionally, there is amusement, dependent on the choice of mask and whatever other statement the streaker chooses to make. Once, the streakers had worn cut-out masks of Edward Cullen, their skin covered in glitter, which actually shut Dalton down for an hour or so because no one could stop talking about it. And everyone was eyeing everyone else to see who might still have some specs of glitter on their skin.

_XXXXXXXX_

Kurt completely loses all sense of reality over the streaking though, when he is walking through the courtyard one night, just past ten, on his way back from a study session with his chemistry class. It's the coldest night so far, and he stupidly went out without his Armani overcoat. His scarf is wrapped tight enough to possibly strangle him, and he clutches his books close enough to his chest hoping they might keep him warm.

The whistles and catcalls of the other boys hurrying between the buildings cause him to stop and look up—just in time to catch three streakers running through the courtyard, not even wearing shoes and socks. And really, there is no point to them wearing masks due to the fact they're singing 'Fireworks' at the top of their lungs, and the only three Warblers to randomly break into that particular song on a continual basis are Blaine, Wes and David.

The harmony is actually quite spectacular.

Kurt's books fall in a pile at his feet, and he is absolutely, positively not staring at the extremely fine ass of his friend as the three streakers disappear into the junior commons. He doesn't even notice when fellow Warblers Kendrick and Jared move up beside him.

"Have you ever wondered why you don't have your cell out when you need it?" Jared picks up Kurt's books and places them back into his hands.

Kendrick pats him on the shoulder. "Yeah. Pictures last longer, Kurt."

Insane. The entire student body is –

_XXXXXXXX_

"—insane, I tell you." Kurt is kind of glaring at Blaine from across the table the next morning. "You could have caught pneumonia. Or gotten frostbite. Or slipped on ice and… and broken something!"

"I've made that run more than once, Kurt."

"Oh, god! I don't want to hear this!" He places his hands over his ears. "Lalalalala! This entire school is insane, and Blaine is the leader of the insanity! Lalalalala!"

"What's wrong with him?" Wes asks as Kurt stops singing and considers pointing out that he could have gotten frostbite as well.

"I think we've totally blown the whole prestigious academy image in his eyes," Blaine replies with a grin.

"It's about time." Wes lays a plate on the table, and pulls off the aluminum foil.

Kurt gapes like a rather unattractive fish.

Blaine leans forward to get a better look at the penis-shaped chocolate chip cookies piled high on the plate.

"My girlfriend made them. She thought it'd be funny for her and her friends to sit around and eat them while I was visiting."

"Was it?"

"It was extremely uncomfortable, dude."

"Are they any good?" Blaine asks as he reaches out to take one.

"Not bad, actually."

And Kurt's mouth falls open a little more as Blaine bites into one. Just sits there, munching on a chocolate chip penis, eyes lighting up a bit at the apparently well-baked cookie as he makes some happy moaning sounds that Kurt is entirely certain was only perverted in his mind. And to compound the madness others students are snatching penis cookies, biting into them, congratulating Wes on his girlfriend's baking abilities, and otherwise completely not noticing the very not normalness of everything.

And still, Blaine is eating his cookie and licking his fingers and –

Kurt's forehead drops to the table where he pounds it relentlessly until he feels Wes' hand on his shoulder.

"Dude, you okay?"

"_Anymomentnow_," he mumbles against the oak beneath him.

"What?" Blaine asks.

"Any moment now," he says more clearly, "I am going to hear the punchline."

No one says anything, and Kurt feels something soft like linen being pressed into his hand. He turns his head slightly to see the white handkerchief Blaine is offering him. It even has Blaine's initials monogrammed into one corner. He realizes immediately what it's for and holds his arm aloft, raising the white flag and waving it above his head. The room around him breaks into applause.

"Welcome to Dalton, Kurt." Wes pats him on the shoulder before grabbing a penis cookie and laying it on the table in front of him.

_When in Rome_… Kurt straightens, picks up his cookie, and with all of the dignity he is so perfectly capable of takes a bite.

Okay, so admittedly they are pretty good.

"So, is this like the typical initiation into Dalton?" He looks up to find Blaine watching him with his usual inscrutable expression that always makes Kurt wonder if there's something really fascinating going on behind him. He resists the urge to turn and look.

"No. I mean, usually its much worse."

Kurt shakes his head and takes another bite. "How could it get worse?"

"The last guy woke up every morning to find a different classmate in his bed." Blaine pauses. "I always wonder how they never woke me up in the process."

As he chokes on his recent bite of penis cookie, Blaine reaches over and rubs his back. "Chew, then swallow. Honestly, Kurt, you don't need to take it all in at once if you aren't used to it."

And Blaine flashes him that _'I'm charming and you know it_' smile as Kurt turns three shades of red. He shoves the rest of the cookie into his mouth, dabs daintily at the corners of his lips with Blaine's handkerchief, and immediately begins plotting.

It may not be McKinley High, but Kurt is rather certain he is going to be okay with calling Dalton Academy home.


End file.
